Page 28 of Royal Catch
It was my idea to offer the necklace. The economic puzzles were not. I can’t figure out what my mother was thinking with that one. Of course it would come down to a brawl with the puzzle winner leading the way to the prize. Was that always the goal? Maybe she thought a catfight would be entertaining. She probably didn’t anticipate it would get out of hand with real injuries. In fact, the two wounded princesses, Elizabeth and Marguerite, left on their own, fed up with the whole barbaric game, and who could blame them? I watched the brawl on the closed-circuit TV, rooting for Polly the whole time. And my girl won.
Not my girl.The fact that the prize was taken from her can only mean this game is rigged against her. Not surprising since my mother has been clear that Polly is not suited to be queen.
I roll to my side and stare at the bedroom door, willing her to appear. Long moments pass and my hope fades. I close my eyes, my mind flashing back to my time with Polly. When she first walked into the palace in her loud sexy dress and mistook me for the butler. Outrageous.
Polly in a bikini, unknowingly giving me a sexy show. Tempting.
Polly hugging me as we shared our pain. Deeply touching.
Polly sneaking into my room to barter a deal with me. Kissing her, touching her, tasting her. I veer away from that memory, already aching with need.
The dark of the cave when I startled her, and she hugged me tight like I was a comfort. I’ve never been anyone’s comfort.
My eyes fly open at the creak of the bedroom door. The outline of wild curls and a short robe have me reaching out in the dark. She closes the door and pads slowly in. I realize she can’t see me, and I turn on the light on the nightstand.
She smiles. My chest expands with a surge of affection. Somehow it’s like she really sees me and not all the royal trappings that keep others at a distance. I’m absurdly happy she’s here.
She slips out of her sandals and stands next to the bed, looking down at me. “You’re awake.”
“What took you so long?” I pull her into bed with me and turn off the light.
“You were expecting me?” she whispers, cuddling right up against me. I’m in my boxer briefs, and the feel of warm sexy woman against my bare skin is exquisite sensual torture.
I cup her jaw and lift her face for my kiss. “Yes.” I slide my leg between hers, and we lie there, sideways hugging as close as two people can be while keeping one a virgin.
“This competition has gotten out of hand,” she whispers.
I keep my voice low. “Agreed. And you should’ve won today.” I don’t know why, but lying in the dark whispering feels more intimate than anything physical.
Her fingers slide through the hair at the nape of my neck. “The queen doesn’t like me.”
I rub her back, trying to soothe. “It’s not personal. She wants the best candidate for the job of queen. She knows what it takes.”
“And she thinks I don’t have what it takes.”
I smooth her hair back from her face, enjoying the soft curls. “I have a feeling my mother has her ideal candidate in mind already.”
“Francesca.”
“Maybe, I’m not sure. I just know it’s not you.”
Silence. Maybe I hurt her feelings.
I give her a small squeeze. “This competition is the last thing I wanted, but it brings my father comfort.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I haven’t seen him. Are there hidden cameras so he can watch?”
I wince because that sounds creepy, but there are extenuating circumstances—his poor health, the need for a smooth succession, the future of the kingdom. “Yes. He’s very ill, bedridden for the better part of a year. He watches on closed-circuit TV.”
“I thought so.” She stiffens. “Is there one in here?”
“No, only where the princesses are taken for meals and competitions.” I hesitate, but then I find I really want to share. “Can I trust you with something very few people know?”
“Yes. Cross my heart and spit in your eye.”
I find myself smiling in the dark. She’s outrageous and fun, something I haven’t had much of in my life.
“Is it about your dad?” she whispers. “Is it bad?”
